Pay No Worship to the Sun
by Amphitrite II
Summary: Jane has a terrible habit of losing herself in infatuation. But with Sif, things are different. Maybe it's the Aether. Or maybe it's an awakening. An explanation for the loaded looks Sif and Jane exchange in Thor: The Dark World, as well as what I find to be the more problematic aspects of Jane's character. :::Sif/Jane femslash:::


**Pay No Worship to the Sun  
By Amphitrite / morethansky**

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**Notes: **Written for Femslash February 2014 and inspired by Tumblr user vulcanyounot's post about the way Sif and Jane give each other appraising looks in slow motion in _Thor: The Dark World_. I couldn't unsee it, and it was just begging to be written. Enjoy!  
**Warnings: **Explicit smut ahead; please heed the Mature warning.

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_I laid you down and touched you like the two of us both needed  
__Safe to say that others might not approve of this and pleaded  
_"_So selfish," then would be their cry, and who'd be brave to argue?  
__Doing what two people need is never on the menu.  
_— "Blunderbuss," Jack White

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Thor's friend Sif is beautiful, that much is undeniable—six glorious feet of lean muscle, with dark hair unkempt from battle and eyes so sharp they could pierce mail. She exudes power with every confident step, and Jane finds herself unable to look away.

Face like stone, Sif's eyes flicker up and down as she moves toward them, blatantly evaluating her. Blushing uncomfortably, Jane tries to avoid eye contact, feeling plain, small, and utterly out of her element in her fancy Asgardian garb. The silky dress on her shoulders is much too nice for someone whose choice attire tends to be days-old pajamas. She is acutely aware of how tiny and insignificant and _mortal_ she looks next to Thor, whose every cell seems to exude godliness.

Sif's lips quirk up for the briefest second, and Jane imagines seeing a spark of interest and challenge light up her eyes. The Aether writhes red-hot under her skin, thrumming with excitement.

Thor's hand on the small of her back brings her back to reality, but she can't help but let her gaze wander in Sif's direction again.

* * *

"You are a quiet one, Jane Foster," Sif says at dinner that night when Fandral and Thor begin boisterously recounting for Volstagg's many children some adventure they shared a few hundred years ago. Illuminated by golden torches and steadfast flames in grand fireplaces, the palace dining hall is massive and warm with conversation and laughter. The Asgardians had been amused at her dumbfounded gaping at the splendor of the feast being served, but it had been impossible to suppress her wonder: She grew up on haphazardly prepared microwavable and boxed dinners, and she, Erik, and Darcy subsist mostly on takeout and instant noodles. After spending most of the meal stuffing her face, she is embarrassed to be addressed by Sif while her mouth is full of the most amazing mashed potatoes in the universe.

Sif continues, "Why do you not speak?"

Swallowing quickly and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Jane stammers, "Oh, I just… I just didn't want to interrupt anything. I don't really know if it's my place..." She hopes she doesn't look as flustered as she feels, but it's difficult not to feel awkward and small with those clear eyes focused so intently on her.

"Thor has spoken highly of you," Sif reassures her. "You need not fear speaking out of turn. Not among this group of fools, anyway," she says, rolling her eyes as Fandral starts reenacting some part of the story by waving his hands in the air like a madman and jumping up and down in his seat.

"Okay," Jane says uncertainly, glancing at Thor. She wonders what Thor has told his friends and parents about her. The thought of him speaking of their whirlwind romance—or whatever it is—to other people both thrills and terrifies her. "Thanks."

"So," Sif continues. Her stare is direct and unabashed, and for a second Jane isn't sure whether she is trying to intimidate her or is legitimately checking her out. She has never been very good at reading people, who are frustratingly imprecise and varied. There is a reason she turned to the skies and their equations when she was young. "You are a scholar? Thor said you study the worlds and stars and the spaces between them."

"Yes, I'm an astrophysicist," Jane says. "That's how Thor and I met, actually. I literally ran into him. It was really embarrassing."

"I have heard the tale," Sif says, eyes glinting with amusement. "But I would know more about your studies. Though I have never had the patience for scholarly pursuits, I do so enjoy listening to people who know their subjects well."

"Really?" Jane blurts out. There's nothing she likes to talk about more than her work, and she would love to know more about the different ways science is perceived here in Asgard. She has a feeling that what Thor told her is only the tip of the iceberg. She has about a thousand questions about that "soul forge" from earlier as it is. "Okay, well… Today was the first time I'd ever been on the Bifrost, and it was amazing! The implications of a path between our worlds alone..."

* * *

After dinner, Jane is escorted by guards in heavy armor to a guest room bigger than any apartment she's ever lived in, complete with deep burgundy drapes and a bathroom the size of her humble lab. She finds herself relieved that Odin had requested that Thor accompany him back to the throne room. In the long years since Thor left her looking like a fool in New Mexico, she has forgotten how overwhelming it is to be around the thunder god. Maybe it's something all deities exude, or maybe it's because Thor is a prince, but Jane finds that his powerful presence is so magnetic and alluring that she tends to lose herself in him. She becomes a satellite to his planet; her thoughts, desires, and actions all end up revolving around him and what he wants and needs.

That first month after New Mexico, she had been embarrassed at how quickly she had become a starry-eyed twelve-year-old girl about somebody she had just met. Though she tried to dismiss it as the symptom of harboring feelings for someone so far out of her league, the crush grew into fierce longing and sadness in spite of Thor's absence—or maybe because of it. It was an impractical feeling, and yet the unquenchable obsession only got worse as the months passed, no matter how much Darcy teased her or Erik expressed his concern.

But seeing Thor on television during the alien invasion had stung like a slap in the face. After spending a year pining and working in overdrive to get in contact with him again, she hadn't even warranted a brief visit or phone call. It had reminded her too much of her ex Donald and how pathetically smitten she had been with him, despite that he always seemed to find more joy in his work than in the time he spent with her. And yet, the moment Darcy had informed her of the readings in that abandoned warehouse—the moment there was even the slightest prospect of Thor returning—Jane's had heart leapt with reckless joy. With that dangerous hope, she began to lose herself again, which was what had gotten her in this terrible situation with mystical liquid gems and dark elves and all sorts of other absurdities that will likely end in her death.

Her self-loathing ponderings are interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Jane expects Thor, or perhaps Frigga, who has treated her with nothing less than politeness and hospitality befitting a queen—unlike Odin, who looks at her as if she's an insect with a nuclear bomb strapped to her back. But when she opens the door, it's Sif she finds on the other side, her dark hair plaited down her back and her hawklike eyes focused entirely on Jane. She's wearing an untied gray robe over a silky green gown that accentuates every curve and leaves Jane's mouth dry.

"Um," she says stupidly, determined to keep her eyes on Sif's face. "Hi. What are you doing here?"

"I simply desired to check on you," Sif says. "Are you finding your quarters satisfactory?"

"They're amazing," Jane says, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. She must sound like such an idiot. "I've never slept in a room this big before."

Smiling, Sif says, "Not many Asgardians can boast having stayed in royal chambers—much less a mortal."

"Yes, Thor and the king and queen have been so kind to me," Jane agrees.

Tilting her head to the side, Sif looks at her, considering. Perhaps it is a trick of the light, but Jane thinks she spies curiosity mingled with conviction.

"You must be tired," Sif says, and Jane wonders if she is imagining the taller woman leaning in closer.

"Not really," she lies. Though she is exhausted, she finds herself reluctant to let Sif leave. Being alone with the Aether coursing through her veins scares her, and she doesn't know how to find Thor in this labyrinthine palace. Plus, in her field, Jane doesn't get to interact with many women, much less ones that are also hot, confident warriors. "Do you want to come in?" she asks, standing up straighter and trying to look more appealing.

"I would be delighted," Sif says, a smile unfurling across her face that lights a fire in Jane's stomach.

Discarding the robe on a chair by the fire, Sif settles on the bed, sitting casually cross-legged and unladylike in a way that makes Jane feel a hundred times more at ease. Sif's now-barren shoulders are creamy and the striking muscles in her arms look golden in the dim light. She beckons for Jane to join her, leaning close so her cleavage is spilling out of her dress and patting Jane's knee in a way that has her wondering if she is really reading all the signals correctly. After all, what does she know about Asgardian flirting? But Sif's enchanting eyes are intent on her, and Jane finds herself unable to look away.

"So how long have you known Thor?" Jane asks, butterflies rising in her stomach. Sif frowns at the question, disappointment flickering in her eyes briefly.

"We played together as children, hundreds of years ago," Sif answers. "He is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and we have shared many memorable adventures."

"It's hard to imagine Thor as a kid," Jane says, laughing a little at the image. She wonders how sheltered and spoiled he must have been as a child, growing up in this vast palace with its doting servants and beautiful courtyards and amazing feasts.

"He was a brat," Sif says, though her smile softens her words. "Stupidly brave and overly eager to prove himself, but even then he had a noble heart."

"I'll bet," Jane says, remembering how Thor had so fearlessly faced down the Destroyer, even when he had been stripped of his godliness. The sacrifice had shocked and scared her, and seeing him fall had felt as if her world were coming down.

"Do you love him?" Sif asks. Taken aback by the unapologetic directness of the question, Jane doesn't stop to think before she answers completely honestly:

"I barely know him."

It's not no. But it's not yes, either.

Something like triumph lights up Sif's eyes, and as her eyes flicker down to Jane's lips, she says, "I have a confession to make." Jane is eighty percent certain that she's not imagining Sif moving in closer, sliding her hands across the silken sheets to rest on either side of the legs Jane has folded beneath her.

"Yes?" she whispers as her heart thumps and the Aether shifts restlessly under her skin.

"I would kiss you, Jane Foster," Sif says.

Jane's breath catches, and the flame within her flares up in excitement. Sif's eyes regard her seriously, dark and hungry, and the sliver of a tongue flickers out to lick her full lips. Warmth pools at the pit of Jane's stomach at the arousing sight. This seems crazy and yet so right. For once, she feels like she wants this for herself. Not for the sake of maintaining Thor's interest, not for the sake of receiving Donald's affections, not for the sake of assuring her college boyfriend that she knew what she was doing—not for Sif's love or respect, but simply because she is an intelligent, attractive woman who is offering her physical comfort. Jane wants to accept it.

She takes the leap and leans in to meet Sif's lips in a hot kiss that makes her blood sing.

Sif tastes like blackberries and steel, and her hair is dark like midnight but smooth like satin. She kisses like she fights: fierce and determined, like she has something to prove. Jane can't get enough of it. Eyes closed, she sucks on Sif's bottom lip enthusiastically and buries her hand into her hair.

Without breaking contact, Sif pushes her down against the mattress and straddles her thighs. She cups Jane's face with her strong hands. Jane moans happily at the feeling of those ample curves pressed against her and arches up to meet Sif, running her hands up and down her strong back. The smooth fabric is cool to the touch, but Sif's mouth is burning hot on her neck. Sif's gown slips off one milky shoulder, revealing delicious, blemish-free skin, which Jane can't help but kiss and nip at gently.

In retaliation, Sif pushes Jane's skirts up, running long fingers calloused from battle teasingly up Jane's thighs. Her left hand continues to explore upward while her right one toys with Jane's underwear, a lacy black thing she purchased for the date with Richard, which feels like years ago. She is glad for it now, hoping she looks at least somewhat attractive for an ordinary mortal.

"Fascinating," Sif says, brushing her gently through the fabric and grinning unabashedly at how soaked through it already is. She pushes it aside and touches the folds of Jane's hot, wet flesh before yanking the damp fabric down and tossing it across the room. The feeling of two confident fingers slipping into her without ceremony makes Jane cry out and spread her legs wantonly.

"I've never done anything like this before," Jane confesses breathily as she rolls her hips and impales herself further on Sif's fingers. She has always looked at women much in the way she looks at men, but none have ever looked back, much less taken her like this. She loves how intimate it is, and how it already feels like every moment is treasured and not just building up to the main event.

"Hush," Sif commands as she presses hot, wet kisses to her jawline, down her throat, and across her collarbones. "Let me take care of you."

Jane gasps as the fingers slip out of her and then in again more roughly, the friction sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. Sif's other hand slides against sensitive skin as she continues to push the dress upward to bare Jane's torso. Jane leans up slightly on her elbows to reach behind herself and remove her bra, and the unintentional shift in angle makes Sif's thrusting fingers hit a white hot bundle of pleasure inside her. She shrieks in surprise, clenching her thighs around Sif. Eyes sparkling, Sif grins widely and curls her fingers to ram into the spot again and again, eliciting helpless moans from Jane. It's too much, too fast, but she doesn't want it to stop. She tries to keep her eyes open because she can't get enough of Sif's hungry expression, but the pleasure is overwhelming.

Sif tosses away Jane's bra and begins kneading and rubbing her breasts with enthusiasm even as her thumb begins rubbing Jane's clit. Jane grabs at the sheets desperately as the sensations rock her body. Spreading her legs as far as she can, she writhes helplessly and cries out in pleasure.

When she's close, Sif shifts lower and says, "Come for me, beautiful," just before replacing her thumb with her mouth and lashing at her with her hot tongue.

Jane sees stars.

Climax hits like a tsunami and scorches her from the inside out. Riding Sif's fingers through the crest, Jane feels herself pulsing against them. She comes down from the high with the goddess's name on her lips.

"Good?" Sif murmurs against her mouth, and Jane can taste herself in the kiss. It is hot beyond belief.

"Oh my god," is all she manages to pant. "That was incredible." She stares up unseeing at the velvet canopy, eyes blown wide by the mind-blowing orgasm. It has never felt like that before—the few times it's even gotten that far. She can feel Sif smiling smugly against her throat, as if she can read her thoughts. Jane is still halfway in her dress, but she is too exhausted to figure out how to remove it and mumbles so.

Sif flicks at the fabric and laughs before pushing Jane gently onto her side and undoing with ease the complicated ties and clasps that go all the way down her back. She helps Jane out of it, kicking it off the bed, and brushes aside brown hair to kiss the back of Jane's neck.

Sif tucks herself against Jane, throwing an arm over her stomach. Lacing her fingers through Sif's, Jane closes her eyes and concentrates on the entrancing sound of Sif's breathing. It feels wonderful to be enveloped like this, with soft breasts beneath soft fabric pressed against her back and thighs and abdomen tighter against her backside than any man could manage. Sif rests her cheek on Jane's head and squeezes her hand.

"I had forgotten how fun mortals can be," Sif says lightly.

"You do this often?" Jane wonders. She waits to feel jealous but can't muster up the negative energy. Sif is like a force of nature; it would be wrong to put her in a cage.

"Mmm," Sif says. "No, not often." She kisses Jane's cheek. "It's not often a mortal catches my eye."

Jane blushes and resists the urge to cover her face. "I'm just a plain Jane," she says, remembering the name her classmates used to taunt her on the playground.

"Certainly not," Sif says, and her conviction makes Jane's heart skip a beat. Surely someone like Sif, gorgeous and fearless, has her pick of bedmates.

"I am beginning to understand what Thor sees in you," Sif continues, but it's not something Jane wants to hear when she's tucked against one of the thunder god's best friends. Guilt washes over her—but for what, she cannot say. Is it reasonable to feel bad after Thor left her on Earth screaming at the skies like a fool and crying like a brokenhearted teenager? Pining and chasing after strange readings and wondering if she had simply been tossed away and forgotten? Unable to let go even though the rational part of her knew she was wasting away in the wake of someone she had only known for days? Knowing she was a fool who had once again lost herself in someone who had managed to change everything?

Before Thor had arrived amid the storm, that was what she had been trying to escape, with Richard. Move on. Live her life. Reclaim herself. And now what? Thor had kissed her earlier, in the courtyard, and caught in his orbit, Jane had felt that dangerous surge of gleeful want resurface.

"Let's not talk about him," Jane pleads, turning over and cupping Sif's porcelain skin with her hands and marveling at how ugly her skin looks against that of an Asgardian.

"As you wish," Sif replies, and Jane is relieved that she doesn't pry further. To distract herself, she kisses Sif's throat and immerses herself in the addictive smell of soap and spice. Sif sighs in approval as she leaves a trail of kisses down her chest and pulls the low-cut fabric down under the heavy breasts.

Jane leans back to admire the obscene sight, but Sif moves forward to catch her lips in a kiss. Their bare breasts push against each other, and Jane moans into Sif's mouth at the unusual sensation. She needs to be closer.

"Can I take your dress off?" she asks shyly, although she realizes how ridiculous it is to feel reticent toward somebody who just fucked her so thoroughly.

"You may," Sif says, eyes smoldering. She guides Jane's hands to the laces low on her back. The fabric falls away, and Jane's brain short-circuits at the stunning sight of Sif laid bare.

"Wow," she murmurs. Tentatively, she runs her hands up the shapely ass and slim waist, delighting in the sensation of the soft, perfect skin beneath her fingertips. Jane finds it incredibly sexy that underneath all that sharp, hard armor, Sif is soft and supple here, gazing at her with liquid eyes. Jane's palms progress upward to cup and gently squeeze the full, pert breasts, admiring their firm shape and the perfect areolas that cap them off. She is consumed by the need to taste them.

Sliding down and bending her neck, she licks the right nipple and is rewarded with a pleased gasp. Encouraged, she slips it into her mouth and sucks experimentally as her other hand kneads the other breast, loving the weight of it in her hand as Sif pushes her head closer with a moan.

Sif shifts, yanking Jane over her so that Jane sits upright on her hips. Sif looks her up and down, shamelessly drinking in the sight of her. The full-blown lust on Sif's face is amazingly hot. Jane has never felt so wanted in her life. The desire—no, _need_—to make Sif feel the same way hits her like a truck.

"I want to taste you," she blurts out. Sif smirks and squeezes Jane's thighs.

"What's stopping you?" she replies huskily. Confidence bordering on arrogance has always made Jane weak in the knees, and something about the proud way Sif holds herself, even in bed, is very, very hot. She is struck by the idea of making Sif lose grip of her perfect control, of pleasuring her to the point of abandon.

She settles between Sif's strong thighs and pulls her open before licking at the perfectly shaped folds experimentally. Sif tastes sharp and golden, and it's soft and wet and like nothing Jane has ever done before. Curiously, she dips her tongue into Sif, moving it in circles and eliciting a soft cry. Sif raises her legs to prop them on her shoulders, enabling Jane to get even closer. Eagerly, she buries herself in Sif's musky scent and the sweet stickiness leaking from within her. She throws herself into the act with enthusiasm, learning how to use the surface area of her tongue and when to suck and how Sif really likes it when she plunges her tongue into her without warning.

To give her mouth a break, she slips a finger into Sif's dripping core. Sif bucks against her, and Jane looks up to see her eyes glazed over with pleasure and mouth hanging slightly open as she breathes heavily. The sight sends arousal rocking through Jane, who slides another finger next to the one already inside Sif. Her walls clamp impossibly tight around her fingers. Jane curls her fingers and thrusts as hard and quickly as she can. Sif keens and retracts her legs, hooking her own arms through them and hugging them to her chest. Her moans are quiet but the way she shudders betrays the fact that her careful control is tenuous. She is so open like this. Unguarded, and yet Jane knows all of her strength, skill, and carefully honed reflexes still simmer within her.

Jane wants to make her lose all control. And she wants Sif to know exactly who is responsible for it, to shout her name loud enough for all of the House of Odin to hear. It is a new feeling, and Jane shudders with arousal at the delightful filthiness of it.

"Get on your knees," she says hoarsely, slipping her fingers out slowly, though they immediately miss the heat they were enveloped in. Sif blinks in surprise at the request, but Jane tries to look as commanding as she can. It seems to work, because something flares up in Sif's eyes and she turns around, bracing herself up on her elbows. Her ass is gorgeous, full and round, and Jane grabs a firm handful with her right hand as she rubs at the folds with the other.

With a breathy sigh, Sif spreads her knees further, putting herself on display. Jane barely suppresses a moan at the sight. She swipes her tongue across the entire exposed area, taking her time to savor the rich taste. Sif makes little gasping noises that are positively addictive, and Jane can feel her strong muscles tremble beneath her hands at her eager ministrations. Bracing herself on one hand, Sif reaches behind herself to yank Jane's hair, pulling her even further into her, until the world narrows down to just Sif and the obscene, throaty moans filling the room. Jane hums in appreciation.

Three fingers slip into Sif with ease, and the goddess catches herself just before she falls forward on her face in surprise. Jane licks her lips, enjoying the sharp, lingering taste. Breathing hard, Sif grips the sheets hard enough that Jane wonders if they'll tear. While pushing as deep as she can, she presses her back against Sif's and traces kisses up the pale, perfect spine.

"Harder," Sif mutters. With a wicked smile, Jane eases out and traces the pink folds lightly, teasing her. Growling in frustration, Sif backs up into Jane's fingers and begins fucking herself on them.

Jane's mouth goes dry. She stills Sif's hips and strokes a calming hand down her back. Then, she begins thrusting into her as hard and roughly as she can, pushing her into the mattress and forcing her legs farther and farther apart. Sif is a wreck, trembling and moaning under her ministrations. Jane drills into her, loving the wet warmth squeezing her fingers, so intimate and electric and utterly unlike anything else in the world.

Sif comes with a hoarse shout, hand grasping for Jane's. Jane entwines their fingers and fucks her through her climax.

Once Sif goes limp, Jane eases out of her slowly. Shaking, Sif lowers herself onto the mattress. Thrilled at making someone lose control—_so much better than losing control of yourself_, a voice whispers in her mind—Jane can't stop the delighted grin that settles on her face. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and kisses the inside of Sif's left thigh.

Sif turns over, and Jane looks up at her through lidded eyes. She pushes the messy hair obstructing her vision out of her eyes.

"Come here," Sif croons, and Jane is pleased to note that she sounds out of breath. "You look amazing."

Her heartbeat skips. _Please stay_, Jane wants to say instinctively, but that isn't what this about. This is about giving pleasure and receiving it, and reassurance, and finding herself. "You make me feel amazing," she echoes, kissing Sif sweetly.

Sif maneuvers them so that they are tucked in closely underneath the heavenly sheets. Jane drapes herself over Sif's chest, loving how warm the Asgardian body feels against hers. They lie quietly long enough for the fire in the hearth to sputter out, and though starlight streams through the open windows, the Aether seems to come alive in the darkness. Jane finds herself concentrating to the rhythm of Sif's breathing to distract herself.

"What keeps you awake?" Sif asks after a while. She traces soft fingers reverently over Jane's jawline.

"I'm scared," Jane confesses in a whisper into the darkness, as if the Aether won't hear her if she speaks quietly enough. "I think having this thing inside of me is going to kill me. I've never been afraid of death, but I've also never faced it like this."

"That is the mortal way," Sif says. At Jane's frown, she elaborates: "Death is inevitable even for the Aesir, but we warriors are more closely acquainted with it than most others. It is perfectly natural to feel fear, but you musn't let it consume you. You must channel it into conviction and determination. You must be brave."

"Easier said than done," Jane mutters, though she appreciates Sif's attempt at comfort.

"Aye," Sif agrees, "But I have faith in you. It seems you are more resilient than you look."

"I think you need to work on your compliments," Jane teases.

"Indeed? I have always found actions to be truer than fickle words," Sif replies, and she tugs Jane's hair gently to pull her up for a searing kiss that sets her nerves on fire.

"Never mind," Jane decides after a few moments. "As long as you keep kissing me like that, you can say anything you like."

Sif laughs, a bubbly, free sound that makes Jane smile in affection. "You are a wonder, Jane Foster," she says.

Heart thumping in her ears, Jane kisses Sif again.

* * *

Later—much later—Sif bursts into her room like a whirlwind and before Jane can even register what is happening, knocks out the guards who had accompanied her in.

"Come with me," she barks, ponytail swinging high on her head and shield like a natural extension of her. Jane looks at her and can barely believe that she had this stunning, authoritative woman at her mercy last night; this striking warrior goddess who made world-shattering love to her until dawn and showed her things she will never forget.

"What's going on?" she asks, swallowing down the insatiable lust that surges in her blood; Sif looks to be all business.

"It is time to brave, Jane Foster," Sif says. She stops just in front of Jane and extends an armored forearm, palm up. There is a challenge in her eyes, alongside an assuring spark of faith.

Jane doesn't hesitate. She takes Sif's hand.

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**Notes: **One of the things I liked the least about TDW was Jane's character. The thought of a smart, capable, attractive woman pining and wasting her life away for two years after someone she had met only briefly—it was just such a depressing depiction after what had been a decently well-rounded character in the first film. And the moment Thor appears, her entire story shifts to revolve around him again, and she spends the rest of the film with such little agency. Everyone tells Thor how fleeting their romance is, but nobody points out how unhealthy it is for her. Darcy hints at it but never seems to lampshade it completely.

I gave this a lot of thought, and then I realized that pathetically pining Jane reflects something similarly ugly in myself, and maybe in others, too. That was when I realized this was something worthy of exploration, something I could write. Also, Sif. Who doesn't want to write Sif?


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